


Fog

by whycraft (voidfoxstarlight)



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Gen, Void Trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-12 02:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20125996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidfoxstarlight/pseuds/whycraft
Summary: It's raining and Grian is sick.





	Fog

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a [writing challenge](https://genderfluid-enderdragon.tumblr.com/post/186792819162/challenge-put-on-an-entirely-instrumental-song)! I listened to Carribean Blue by Enya while writing this.

Grian sneezed and huddled miserably under his blanket. This stupid new world was going to be the death of him, it really was. Between the never-ending rain and, subsequently, the never-ending mob spawns, it was a miracle he had survived this long.

He sneezed again. He was definitely sick with something, although he didn;t know what. Pneumonia, probably. Or maybe just the flu. Either way, he couldn’t sleep without waking himself up because of all the coughing he was doing. If he just got up and fixed the leaks in the roof, he’d probably get better quicker, but he was so tired that he could barely move, much less build.

It rained harder. The fire went out.

Grian wanted to cry.

Lightning lit up a shadow on his front porch that was definitely not supposed to be there. Grian sat up and a few of his blankets fell away.

“Hello?” he called, but it was no use. Thunder boomed at the exact moment that he spoke, drowning out any other sounds.

Someone opened the front door and rushed inside, cursing. The wind blew the door back open and the stranger dragged Grian’s table in front of it to hold it shut. The stranger sighed - whether in relief or exhaustion, Grian couldn’t tell.

“Umm… hello?” Grian tried.

The stranger whirled around. He was older than Grian was expecting, with a wild grey beard and wrinkles around his eyes. His eyes were dark like obsidian. He wore no armor, only a dripping wet leather cloak and a small backpack. In his hand, he carried a diamond pick.

“Ehm. Sorry about that,” said the stranger gruffly. “Didn’t realize there was anyone living here. Looked abandoned. No offense.”

“It’s fine,” said Grian. “Better in here than out there.”

“You got that right.” The stranger wrung out his beard, dripping water all over the floor. “Haven’t seen a storm like this in years.”

“So it’s not like this often here?”

“Nah.” The stranger glanced at him. “You from a different world?”

“Yeah. I’m Grian, by the way.”

“TinFoilChef. You can call me TFC.”

“Nice to meet you.”

TFC grunted and swung his backpack onto the table. “Where’s that blasted flint…” He pulled it out of his backpack with a triumphant “Aha!” and crossed the floor to the dampened fireplace.

“I think it’s too wet…” Grian started, but when TFC righted himself, a fire was crackling in the hearth.

“How’d you do that?” Grian exclaimed.

“You don’t live as long as I have without learnin’ a few tricks,” he said.

“Can you teach me?”

TFC snorted. “Teach you? Boy, you don’t look like you could even move right now.” Grian bristled, but TFC continued. “If you’re feeling up to it once the storm blows over, you can come with me too my base and I’ll give you a few tips.”

He beat Grian’s couch cushions into shape and laid down. “Damn. My joints ain’t what they used to be.” He pulled his still-wet cloak over himself like a blanket. “Go to sleep.”

And somehow, miraculously, Grian did.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning, the sky was blue and the storm had subsided. The fire wasn’t lit anymore, but the coals still glowed. TFC was nowhere to be seen.

Grian stretched and rubbed his eyes. Had TFC been some sort of hallucination brought on by his addled brain?

Speaking of his addled brain, his head hurt much less this morning. He shoved his blankets away and stood up. His head swam and he immediately sat back down. Not completely better, then.

He glanced around the little cabin. On his table, there was a little piece of paper. He stood up, slower this time, and examined it. There were some coordinates and a message written on it: _ Come see me when you’re better. -TFC _The coordinates were about 500 blocks away.

Grian gathered up his meager supplies and headed out. He had a lot of walking to do.

The walk was far more treacherous than it had any right to be. The majority of the area was unlit, leaving plenty of spawnable spots. Grian only had an iron sword at the moment, and it was quickly losing durability. To make matters worse, it was becoming increasingly clear that he was still very, very sick. At one point he coughed so hard that he actually had to hunch over and stop walking.

By the time he reached TFC’s base, it was well into the afternoon and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. He coughed once more and knocked on TFC’s door. He waited a few minutes and knocked again.

It took a few more minutes, but TFC finally answered the door. He raised his eyebrows and looked down at Grian. “I thought I told you not to come over until you felt better?”

Grian shrugged pitifully. “I did feel better at first.”

TFC grumbled to himself and held the door open. “Get in here.”

Grian followed him inside. They went down a long, long, _ long _staircase which opened into a small room.

“Hey, Tin, what’s this? Fresh meat?”

Grian took a step back. A man in red armor the likes of which Grian had never seen before was lounging on a couch across the room. He wore a helmet, and between that and his distorted voice, it was impossible to tell if he was joking.

“Quit scaring the kid,” said TFC. “Ex, this is Grian. Grian, this fool is Ex.”

“Short for Evil Xisuma,” said Ex. “It’s ‘cause I’m evil.”

“He won’t do you any harm,” TFC said. “Worst thing about him is the way he struts around showin’ off like a peacock.”

Ex pointed a finger a TFC. “I resent that remark.”

TFC ignored him. “Can he stay in your room? I’d let him use on of the others, but, well you know.”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t touch any of my stuff.”

TFC pointed down the hallway. “Go down there, take a right, first door you see. Take a nap, kid.”

“I don’t need -”

TFC fixed him with a stern look. “Kid. You ain’t gonna get better until you take care of yourself. Go take a nap.”

“He’s not going to let up until you listen to him,” Ex advised. “Better just to get it over with.”

If he was completely honest with himself, Grian didn’t really want to argue. “Okay.”

“I’ll come get you when it’s time for dinner,” said TFC. “Sleep well.”


End file.
